My Teens Are Monsters (Literally)
by DoomDoors
Summary: While on holiday in the Caribbean, a teenage Antonio briefly parts from his friends for some solitude on the beach, where he's propositioned by a strangely insistent, inhumanly beautiful girl. He awakes the next morning highly confused (and sore.) Later, his one-night stand returns to tell him that she's in fact a succubus. And pregnant. But hey,he gets the kids in fifteen years!
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: First, I saw a demotivational poster of Antonio holding a million and one (excuse the hyperbole) of his colonies with the words 'be fruitful and multiply', hence the idea that he has a metric ton of illegitimate children from all around the world of similar ages (he is a very busy man.) Then, I was for some reason reading TV Tropes page on succubae/incubi known as 'Horny Devils'. And then my mum told me that we might holiday in the Caribbean this summer. That's how this 'Antonio's one night stand while on holiday at the Greater Antilles was actually a succubus who years later leaves him saddled with an illegitimate child/children who've reached demon puberty and OMG, Arthur knows about magic crap, he should be able to help, story was made. I don't own Hetalia.**

_Prologue: _

Laughing belatedly at a joke told to him by his friend Gilbert, the punch line of which he didn't remember except for the words 'goat', 'car battery', and 'nipple clamps', fifteen-year-old Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo stumbled drunkenly out of the hotel lobby and onto the beach.

Flopping onto his back while letting out the occasional chuckle, Antonio revelled in the slightly damp feel of the sand against his overheated body, unmindful of the granules digging into him. The Culebra night air was refreshingly cool and consistent, carrying with it the underlying scent of brackish sea water.

Overhead, the sky was a black canopy, festooned with stars that glimmered like diamonds against its velvety backdrop, although they seemed like a mere afterthought in comparison to the thin sliver of moon blindly smiling down on him from its skyward perch.

Antonio sighed contentedly, the sound in sync with the rhythmic lap of the waves rolling against the shore. "Nothing could possibly make this better," he said to himself. Then his nose scrunched up in thought. "Well, except for tomatoes. Ooh, or turtles. No, no wait: Turtles that have tomatoes for shells! _Tomurtles_!"

His rambling was cut off by the sibilant whisper of the wind, louder than before, followed by the distinct tinkle of a woman's laugh.

Pulling himself into a sitting position, Antonio was greeted by the sight of what were either the result of party drugs being slipped into his drink or what was the simultaneously most beautiful and most horrifying woman that he'd ever laid eyes on.

At first glance, she seemed virtually flawless, her face looking more like the result of an obsessively dedicated and highly skilled artist's fevered work than something made of flesh and her figure the sort that no woman could ever hope to have regardless of exercise or surgery. In fact, that was the problem: Her face did not seem like a human's face in its perfection, her body unnatural in its unblemished symmetry. To be human meant to be flawed, thus her overly beautiful appearance screamed that she was most definitely _not_.

She smiled then, a small, close-lipped smile, and began to walk, or more aptly, stalk, towards him, the undulating movements of her limbs sensuous and vaguely serpentine. All Antonio could do was watch in a combination of confusion and fascination as she made her way over. It was, he would later recall, rather like watching a tiger coming towards you; admiring of the creature's graceful bearing and realising of the fact that it was most likely preparing to tear your throat out.

The woman was still smiling as she crouched before him, arms wrapped around her knees and head tilted to the side in a facsimile of innocence, but her eyes were a dead give-away: The sclera were hungry black voids, the pupils little more than red spotlights, and on top of it all, completely unblinking.

Now, all of this would send most people running for the safety of anywhere else conceivable, but Antonio was drunk. Really, really, piss-arsed drunk. Also, he felt oddly tranquil as she gazed into his eyes, as though he were floating in that undefinable limbo between sleep and consciousness. He felt flushed, too, and, he was embarrassed to admit, aroused. And so, rather than hightail it off of the beach and into the hotel, he instead found himself saying:

"Uh…Nice, nice novelty contacts. Bit early for Halloween, though, innit?"

The look that she gave him seemed almost pitying of his inebriated attempt at flirting, but she mounted him nonetheless, knocking him onto his back.

"Ooomph…Oh, we're…So, we're gonna have sex? Anonymous sex? On the beach? Right now? Wow. This is…Pretty cool, I guess. Kinda awkward, though. Say, what _is_ your name?" Antonio asked the woman, well, girl, now that he was seeing her up close, she only looked around his age despite the large, seemingly pneumatic breasts and round hips…

"Your vocal chords aren't properly formed for the syllables of my people's tongue," she said simply as she unbuttoned his trousers.

Antonio blinked. "…Are Castilian Spanish and Puerto Rican Spanish really _that _different?"

Quirking an eyebrow, the girl flipped them over so that their positions were reversed. "Sure, let's go with that." Seeing his confused expression, she sighed and locked her ankles around Antonio's neck, pulling him down to her. "You can call me Desirée, if you want," she relented. "All of the locals do."

"That's a pretty name," Antonio said as he positioned herself between her splayed legs. "Uhm, I don't have a condom…"

Desirée rolled her eyes upward. "That's fine," she assured him.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Seriously? Because I don't know if I'll be able to pay child support-"

At that point, Desirée sat up, once again knocking Antonio over, and resumed the position with her straddling him. "Sit back, shut up, and enjoy the ride," she told him.

The following morning, Antonio awoke with the sunshine blaring into his face as though it were being filtered through a magnifying glass and he were an ant, the light threatening to melt his bleary eyes clean from their sockets and into a viscous white jelly. His head was pounding like a mouthful of gingivitis-infected teeth, his muscles were screaming in protest with the slightest of movement, he had sand in places that he hitherto didn't know even existed, he felt completely drained of any vestige of energy that might have once resided in him, and a tell-tale breeze around his privates alerted him to the fact that he was revealing his bait and tackle to the world. The only comfort that he had was the fact that the beach was empty.

Groaning, he forced himself into a sitting position, ignoring the sand wedging itself further into places that it should not be, and began to look around for his trousers. Much to his surprise, they were neatly folded beside him. Wait, folded?

The memories rushing back to him, Antonio massaged his temples at the sudden onslaught of recollections regarding last night's rendezvous. "So _that's _why I can't feel my legs," he muttered.

Now realising that Desirée had left, Antonio, hopeless romantic that he was, couldn't help but feel a tad disappointed that she'd up and left so quickly. Wasn't that more of a guy thing, anyway, loving and leaving?

"Then again, she _did _initiate things," he admitted to himself. _And how_, Antonio thought. He _still_ wasn't sure about the safety of some of those positions…

His thoughts were interrupted by the familiar voices of Francis and Gilbert, their loud voices particularly grating what with his hangover from hell.

"Yo, Tony, where the hells were you last night? That party was _insane_," a very sunburnt Gilbert shouted practically into his ear, causing Antonio to wince.

"Oui, there were things done with jelly shots that should never be done," Francis chimed.

Gilbert raised his eyebrows. "That was _you_."

Francis shrugged diffidently. "As I said, they should never be done. Heed my advice; lime jelly is _extremely _difficult to remove from one's-He stopped, wide-eyed, upon seeing Antonio's condition, a mischievous grin playing around his mouth. "Ohonhonhonhon, it looks as though our dear Antonio got up to his own, private party last night, eh?" He chuckled.

Gilbert began to snicker as well. "Kesekesekesekese. It looks more like he fucked a grain thresher."

Antonio stared tiredly up at his best friends. "Huh?" He said blearily as he forced himself to stand up.

Gilbert's eye began to tick. "Dude, put that thing away!" He said, throwing his arms up before his eyes. "Kids are gonna be here soon!"

"Oh, yeah," Antonio muttered sheepishly, and began to fumble around for his clothing, As he bent over to pick up his jeans, however, he felt a sudden flare of agony rush up his spine, and he let out a strangled groan. Francis and Gilbert were beside him within seconds.

"Your comment about the grain thresher wasn't mere hyperbole," Francis noted.

"No kidding," Gilbert muttered. "Your back, it's all fucked up," he said to Antonio. "Was the person you slept with into knife play or something?" He added.

Gingerly pulling his jeans on, Antonio shrugged, causing a new ripple of pain to run down his back. "She scratched me a bit, is all."

Francis drew back. "_Scratched _you?" He said incredulously. "Your back has been sliced to ribbons! What did she have, claws?"

Antonio smiled, although his heart wasn't in it. "You know, I think she did," he managed to say before keeling over.

Several hours later, they'd driven to the nearest hospital, where the doctor had taken one look at Antonio and bandaged him up like a macramé mummy and written him a prescription for antibiotics in case of infection.

It all seemed like a standard hospital visit until the doctor; a man in his forties named Vincent Morales, took him aside and whispered that he might want to leave the island a bit earlier than expected.

"Why?" Antonio asked, confused.

Vincent looked around suspiciously, settling back only when he noticed that Francis and Gilbert were preoccupied with flirting with a nurse and batting with a vending machine, respectively. "Let's just say that you're not the only one who's come in here with certain parts of his anatomy sliced and diced after sex with a beautiful stranger." A mirthless smile crossed his face. "You should count yourself lucky. A number of others, the ones who were with her several times…Let's just say you should be grateful to still be alive and leave while you're still breathing. Most men aren't so lucky."

Antonio stared at him in slack-jawed horror, although the moment was quickly defused by Francis getting bitch-slapped for groping the nurse and the vending machine falling on top of Gilbert as an act of revenge for him kicking it when it didn't yield his packet of pretzels, necessitating another visit into Dr. Morales' office.

Needless to say, after this fiasco, the three of them found themselves standing in the middle of the airport, ready to crash at Antonio's house in Madrid. When he asked the other two why it was his house that had to be overrun, Francis and Gilbert said that they had to protect him in case-

"The scratch-happy bitch tries following you," Gilbert exclaimed whilst wearing a 'duh' expression on his face (and a cast on his left arm. Vending machines do not show mercy.)

Antonio sighed, feeling the itch of the healing wounds beneath his bandages and wishing desperately that he could scratch them. "I doubt that she would stalk me. She left me naked on the beach as soon as I fell asleep. Hell, she didn't even ask for my name or give me her real one."

Francis stroked his stubbled chin. "Hm. What _was_ the name that your rough little paramour gave you again?" He questioned.

"Desirée," Antonio said, cringing as the half-healed scratches began to throb.

"You didn't find _anything _dodgy about that?!" Gilbert exclaimed, letting go off his valise to dramatically wave his good hand around, causing passer-by to throw him dirty looks when his flailing fist almost struck them. "That's a freaking stripper name! Chris Rock has a whole segment on strippers and how they're bad news!"

"That bit of his routine really just degenerated into a rant against plastic heels," Francis said dismissively. Turning to Antonio, he said, "Pay no attention to Gilbert, he's still angry about bursting into flames two days ago."

Gilbert scowled. "I did _not _'burst into flames'. It was a gradual scorching. And it's not my fault I have albinism and can't tan!"

"No, it is not," Francis agreed, and slapped him directly on the bright red burn stretched across his right arm.

Wearing an expression of mingled rage and fury, Gilbert could only let out an undignified screech of pain. "What the hell was that for?!" He demanded.

Francis smirked. "_That _was for replacing my condom supply with a package of balloons that had the phrase 'Happy Birthday Grandma' printed across them."

"Meh. You needed to give your dick a break, anyway. You banged five different girls-

"That's not such a large number-

"The first day we arrived in Puerto Rico!"

"I reiterate; that is not a large number. Right Antonio? Antonio? Bonjoooour? Francis said." He turned to Gilbert, eyebrows raised so that they disappeared into his hairline. "What's wrong with him?" He demanded.

Gilbert shrugged. "The hell if I know." He began to wave his hand in front of Antonio's face. "Oi, Tony, what're you staring at? Is it the old lady with the spandex short-shorts and the thong again?" The only response that he received was in the form of Antonio lifting up a shaking finger in the opposite direction.

Flabbergasted, Gilbert and Francis turned around, their eyes widening to the size of dinner plates at what they saw.

The swarms of people bustling about the airport terminal had been frozen in place. A woman leaning over to tie her shoelaces, a man with his mobile pressed up against his ear, three tow-headed children running towards a concession stand; all of them stood stationary, caught in mid-movement as time stood still, hanging over them like a frozen awning. Even a crumpled bit of paper being tossed into a bin hung motionless in the air, stuck in mid-arc.

"What. The. Fuck?" Gilbert said blankly. Tentatively, he stepped over towards the piece of paper floating in the air and nudged it with his finger. Rather than falling to the ground like it would have under normal circumstances, it instead moved sluggishly forward a few centimetres, than once again stood completely still, suspended in the air.

"Awesome," he muttered.

"Indeed," Francis agreed as he took advantage of the situation by peeking down the blouse of the woman who had been tying her trainers.

Antonio shivered, feeling cold all of a sudden. The dull ache in his back had turned into a full-fledged throbbing that pulsed in time with his heartbeat, and he felt oddly lightheaded. Letting go of the handle of his suitcase, he sat down on a nearby bench, dropped his head into his hands and attempted to still his breathing.

"Guys," he said weakly, "something's not right."

"I sort of figured," Gilbert said dryly as he gestured towards the stagnant crowd of formerly active people.

The pulsating in the wounds increased, as though fuelled by a disembodied heart, and Antonio was nearly sick all over the polished linoleum. "No," he choked out. "I mean-

His words transformed into a prolonged scream as the throb became a burning agony the likes of which he'd never felt before. There was the wet rip of flesh followed by the snapping of impeding bone being unceremoniously pushed out of the way, and Antonio collapsed onto the floor, writhing and screaming.

Francis and Gilbert rushed to his side, drawing back in horror and revulsion at what they saw: A bloodied hand jutting out of a gaping hole in Antonio's back.

They could only watch as the hand squelched its way out of the wound, followed by another, then as the upper body slowly unfolded out, its bones and joints snapping wetly back into place from its formerly contorted position.

And then, just moments later, she stood before them, blood-splattered and terrible in her perfection.

The moment was then ruined by Gilbert's declaration of "You're doing it wrong! You're supposed to have ripped your way through his chest, not his back!"

Francis shook his head at his friend's idiocy and wondered if Gilbert's inability to remain serious was the result of immaturity or a desperate need to remain laughing in the face of danger lest he give in to despair. He decided that it was a little bit of column A and a little bit of column B, with a dash of batshit insanity thrown in for extra flavour.

"Desirée," Antonio murmured, somehow still conscious despite having a full-grown woman rip her way out through his back.

Francis and Gilbert gaped up at her nude form, unable to comprehend what they were seeing. True, she was far more beautiful than any human woman could ever be, but she just looked so completely…Inhuman at the moment, that it was unfathomable how anyone could consent to sleep with her.

Membranous wings, claws that looked capable of slicing through steel, horns curling away from her head, and those eyes, blank, dead voids besides the flickering red slits that passed for pupils, she looked like a clichéd metal album cover.

Seeing their questioning gazes, Antonio, whose wound, now free of its former corruption, had sewn itself shut with surprising rapidity, pushed himself to his feet, albeit somewhat tremulously. "She didn't look like _that_ last night," he assured them.

"Comforting to know," Francis said dully.

Desirée, apparently in no mood to suffer any more of their conversation, rolled her head and let out an ear-piercing noise that was somewhere between a roar and a screech, revealing teeth as sharp and numerous as those of a shark.

"Oh man. I'd rather waylay myself in the balls with a sack filled with bricks than let those chompers anywhere near Mini-Gilly," Gilbert managed to squeak out in spite of himself. Antonio would've laughed at the look of annoyance on Desirée's face at Gilbert's lack of fear if she hadn't chosen that moment to hurl a handful of what appeared to be black fire in their direction.

"Quick, commence hellfire-dodging formation!" Gilbert shouted as the three of them threw themselves to the side. The carelessly thrown stream of flame overshot them, though Antonio felt the heat of it graze across the top of his head.

"Good thing we worked on that last summer, eh?" Antonio said as they got to their feet.

"Quite," Francis said in agreement.

There was the sound of a hand slapping against flesh, and the three of them turned around to find Desirée in the human form that she'd assumed whilst seducing Antonio, palming her forehead and looking disgusted. "For Christ's sake…" She began, only to be interrupted by Antonio.

"Wait…You can say the name of Christ without bursting into flame?" He said bewilderedly.

Desirée raised her eyebrow. "Er, yes?"

Gilbert ran a hand through his snowy hair with his free hand, looking as perplexed as Antonio felt. "But…Don't demons get all marshmallow-y whenever God is mentioned? You know, 'the power of Christ compels you', and all that?"

"What the…I'm not a demon! I'm a succubus!" Desirée snapped.

Francis raised his hand, as though they were having a classroom discussion rather than facing a paranormal creature. "Isn't that a type of demon?" He asked. "Except sexy," Francis added as his eyes scanned her ample chest.

Desirée let out a groan and sank onto the bench. "Fools! Have you the brain worms?! My kind are a species separate from humans, yes, but we are most certainly not fallen angels, nor are we _always _chaotic evil! We're an offshoot of vampires, if anything, but we're not un-dead corpses, either! My God, where'd you get your knowledge of monsters from, Dungeons and Dragons?!" She demanded.

"…Yes," Gilbert said.

She pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. "Look, I'm just here to give Antonio-yes, I know your name, don't ask-A message. Now can I _please _just get on with this without it turning into twenty questions?" She begged.

Once again, Francis raised his hand, waving it around in the air like a pedantic schoolboy for good measure.

Desirée sighed and nodded towards him. "Yes?" She said tiredly.

"Can I cop a feel?" Francis asked her.

"…No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"No."

"Pretty please with sugar on top?"

"Go fuck yourself."

"Oh, don't be like that, mon cherie!"

"Piss off. Seriously, go take a hike."

Francis folded his arms. "Hmph," he pouted. "Some succubus you are."

At that, Desirée's eye began to tick like a bomb. "For God's sake…My chest is not the make a wish foundation!" She hissed.

"But, just _look _at it!" Francis cried, gesturing towards the heaving mounds as though they were priceless antique paintings and he an overzealous art dealer. "Those are the sort of breasts that give people hopes and dreams!"

Desirée was unmoved. "Hardly. All succubae have them."

Gilbert's eyes widened. "Holy shit, an entire species of inhumanly hot chicks with gargantuan tits." He turned to Antonio and gave him a thumb up. "I take it back. Congratulations on tapping that undoubtedly fine arse. It was a great one, right?" He asked.

Antonio, still a bit groggy from the whole succubus-using-his-open-wounds-as-acatalyst-to-ent er-the-human-world thing, simply nodded his agreement. (And in all honesty, it was indeed a fantastic arse, which was really saying something, because Antonio was well aware that his own was renowned amongst his social circus as being the stuff of dreams.)

By this point, Desirée was banging her head against the wall in frustration. "Shut up and let me give my message or I'll peel the flesh from your dicks like a banana!" She shrieked, flexing her claws in a manner that clearly stated that they'd be flaying their junk within the next two seconds.

Antonio, Gilbert, and Francis all fell silent. "You have our attention," they declared simultaneously.

"Finally! I'm pregnant," she said, pointing at Antonio, who promptly lost all traces of colour from his face. Ignoring his obvious shock, Desirée continued with " You'll be getting our hybrid children when they turn fifteen and have the choice of either embracing or rejecting their alu-fiend status. Have a nice day," in a deadpan tone of voice. Disregarding Antonio's rather girlish shriek of surprise, Desirée disappeared in a spiral of black flame, leaving only a pile of oddly shimmering ash in her wake.

Antonio fell dramatically to his knees as the formerly frozen airport goers were released from their stasis and once again began to hurriedly mill about the terminal.

"I'm too young to be a father!" He wailed.

In response to his friend's soap operatic reaction, Gilbert rolled his eyes. "You don't even get the kids until you're thirty!" He reminded him. Then he scratched his head. "Oh shit, she said children. As in plural. Huh, apparently succubae have like…Litters, or something. Wow, good thing you don't have to pay child support."

As Antonio continued to lament his situation, Francis patted him on the shoulder. "Well, think of it like this," he said gently. "Your children are going to be gorgeous!"

"I…Guess that _is _kind of nice," Antonio admitted. "But how come _you're _so pleased about that?" He said curiously.

Francis grinned. "Because in fifteen years, Uncle Francis will be more than happy to fall into a comfortable May-December relationship!" He declared.

Antonio burst into renewed tears. Gilbert rolled his eyes and conked Francis on the head. The three of them were so busy commiserating that they wound up missing their plane and were forced to spend another three hours in the airport. Worse, they had nothing to eat but airport food, which everyone knows is overpriced and highly constipating.

Meanwhile, in an undisclosed but nearby area, Desirée was sprawled in an overstuffed chair in front of the telly, wearing a Ninja Turtles T-shirt and shovelling ice cream into her mouth straight from the container. "Only ten thousand years until menopause and then I can hopefully lose all of my biological imperatives," she muttered.

**A/N: I decided to go the Rosario + Vampire route with succubae and just give them the general description of monster/not exactly human rather than demon, mostly just to lighten things up.** **Also: Antonio gets paternal rights (sort of)!**


	2. Chapter 1 Arriving in Style (Sort Of)

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, sadly. I do, however, own the OC characters of Antonio's alu-fiend children, with the exception of the one who represents Cuba. **

**Primary Cast:**

_Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo-Spain (Age 30: Species: human)_

_Gilbert Beilschmidt-Prussia(Age: 30 Species: Human)_

_Francis Bonnefoy-France (Age: 30 Species: Horny Human)_

_Laura de Groot-Belgium (Age: 26 Species: Human)_

_Abel de Groot-Netherlands (Age: 28 Species: Human)_

_Arthur Kirkland-England (Age: 30 Species: Human)_

_Enrique-Dominican Republic, OC (Age: 15 Species: Half-human hybrid/Alufiend)_

_Carlos-Cuba (Age: 15 Species: Half-human hybrid/Alufiend)_

_Priscila-Puerto Rico, OC (Age: 15 Species: Half-human hybrid/Alufiend)_

**Chapter 2: Meet the Family**

Fifteen years had passed since Antonio's run-in with Desirée, a.k.a. the succubus who had left him with both physical and emotional scars (mostly physical) during their alcohol-fuelled tryst back in the Caribbean. In all of that time, Antonio had, as most people are wont to do with uncomfortable experiences, shoved the incident into the farthest recesses of his mind, where incidentally he also happened to keep all of his memories pertaining to a poorly-received television advert that featured an entire family suffering a horrible and acute case of diarrhoea and his eighteenth birthday (tequila and a floor buffer had been involved.)

Needless to say, by only allowing the faintest nuance of a recollection of that sultry, flesh-rending night to reside within his mind, Antonio had effectively locked the majority of the memories in a prison of self-induced ignorance.

It is a great mercy that humans lack the ability to draw parallels between each individual memory; to try and correlate the entirety of the contents of one's mind would only lead to driving oneself to the brink of insanity. Or to write a well-received autobiography. Either way, due to banishing the majority of his memories involving shagging a succubus in various positions that would have made the writers of the Kama Sutra flush with shame, Antonio found himself floating in the dark seas of complete and utter obliviousness. True, Gilbert and Francis had been there, had even met Desirée face to face and seen her for what she truly was, but, though they were his best friends, neither of them were what one would be inclined to describe as responsible. Also, the two of them were busy partying in New York City whilst Antonio was preparing for his wedding to his lovely fiancée, Laura, whom he had been dating, much to the displeasure of her elder brother Abel, for the past six years.

And so, because the universe enjoys wiping its arse with people, the most awkward scenario possible involving the reuniting of Antonio's long-lost children with their father was conducted as such:

_Rotterdam, the Netherlands 8:05 a.m._

Feeling a pair of eyes burning into the back of his skull, Antonio, tired though he was, forced himself to sit up straight in his chair and pasted an expression of attentiveness on his face while Laura chattered on about whether their wedding colours would be periwinkle and silver or lilac and white, oblivious to the fact that he looked like an extra for Night of the Living Dead.

Antonio began to sigh, but caught himself as he once again felt a familiar glower boring holes into him. He clamped his jaw shut lest any sound of weariness escape his mouth. It was, he couldn't help but think, supremely unfair that Laura and him had to stay at her older brother Abel's house whilst planning their wedding, when they could have just as well stayed at either one of their homes.

But, Laura had insisted that she wanted her siblings to be involved in her wedding in lieu of their late parents, and Abel, a highly frugal man, had said that it'd be best that they do the wedding planning at the home that he occupied in Rotterdam, the reason being that he didn't want to pay for a ticket to either Barcelona or Antwerp if he didn't have to and if they wanted to start things early, then they could shell out the money to do so. Being a very tall, imposing man who constantly wore what could only be described as an 'I will fuck your shit up' expression, Abel wasn't the sort that anyone wanted to pick an argument with, at least not if they cared about the structural integrity of their face. Hence why Antonio found himself not only booking a flight to Rotterdam but also being ousted out of bed at seven o' clock in the morning the following day after his arrival in the aforementioned city, which happened to be a Monday, in order to listlessly watch Laura pick out colour schemes and have Abel attempt to light him on fire using only the intensity of his glare and the power of avid dislike.

_Love Laura…But so bored…Wanna sleep…But Abel will kill me…Where's their other brother, anyway? _

"Henri's still in Luxembourg on business and won't arrive until two days before the wedding," Abel said in a monotone as he feigned reading a newspaper which had two eye holes cut in the front page in order for him to covertly give Antonio dirty looks whilst simultaneously perusing the sports section.

Antonio blinked. _…Did he just read my mind? Oh crap…_

Abel rolled his eyes and stood up, spiky blonde hair nearly brushing the kitchen ceiling. "No, mongool. You've been thinking out loud this entire time," he muttered before stomping off towards the cabinets, mumbling something about getting more vlokfeest.

"What's a mongool?" Antonio asked once Abel was out of earshot.

Laura looked distractedly up from the mass of bridal magazines scattered across the dining table. "It means mongoloid. It's the Dutch equivalent of calling someone a retard, I guess. Why do you ask?"

"According to your brother, I'm retarded, then."

"Oh." Laura crossed something out, the scratch of pen against paper oddly loud in the ensuing silence. "Want me to slap him?" She offered.

Antonio took in the soft halo caressing her golden hair via the sunlight streaming through the window, the irritated flicker in her bright green eyes as she prepared to do violence to her older brother, and felt himself to be the luckiest man in the world. "No, amorcita," he said with a smile. "It's fine. Abel will grow to like me eventually."

Laura quirked her eyebrow in a jaunty manner, and Antonio deflated slightly.

"Accept me?"

No change in expression.

"Tolerate me?"

Still no change.

"Stop threatening to strangle me in my sleep and fix the scene to look like I died during a bout of autoerotic asphyxiation?"

"…What the hell?"

"He's still angry about the time we went out drinking in an attempt to bond and I lost my wallet and couldn't pay for my share of the drinks and then I got sentimental because I'd had wine and you know what wine does to me. Apparently I got touchy-feely with the bartender and got us thrown out of the bar and into a gutter. And then I vomited on Abel's lap and accidentally head-butted him in the crotch, which got us thrown out of the cab we'd just gotten in. Then, while we were walking, it started to rain really hard. Like, pouring tubs of water from the sky. That's when I found my wallet-It was in my jacket pocket the whole time," Antonio explained.

Silence reigned for a moment. Then, Laura said "So _that's _why he hates you," in a dry tone of voice. "And here I thought it was because of that time he caught you and I having sex on the hood of my car."

Antonio's hand shot out to cover her mouth. "Don't say that out loud," he whispered. "Abel's just gotten over that! If you bring it up, he's gonna kick my arse so hard I'll have to unbutton my collar to use the toilet!"

"Don't flatter yourself," Abel deadpanned as he returned to the table with a plate with several slices of bread spread with butter and topped with a mixture of dark and white chocolate shavings. "The arse-kicking I gave you for the strip club incident will last you for at least a year," he added. He pulled out a chair, lifting rather than dragging it so as not to scratch the floor before lowering himself into it. To his sister, he said "Oi, Laura, hurry up and pick your colour scheme already; this is a table, not a magazine rack."

Laura made a face at him. "I'll have you know that it takes a woman _time _to select her wedding colours! This is a very special occasi-

"Blah, blah, blah Bridezilla," Abel said, waving a hand at her in a bored fashion. "How about instead of pouring over non-existent colours like mermaid and old lace, you just pick something that actually exists on the colour spectrum?" He asked, and received a magazine to his face for his troubles.

"Real mature. Such a kind, sweet, even-tempered girl you're marrying," Abel said to Antonio. "Better hold on to your balls or she might eat them for breakfast if you ever try to pick out bed sheets."

"Gah! Go smartarse it up somewhere else, dammit!" Laura said in exasperation while pointing her finger at her brother.

Abel merely lifted his eyebrows in response before taking a bite of one of his sandwiches. "This is _my _house," he responded after swallowing. "You're welcome to do your wedding planning somewhere else, though. The toilet, perhaps."

Laura sniffed. "How generous of you."

"Aren't I, though? I'm a regular old Jesus-figure."

"Talk about delusions of grandeur."

"What? Jesus was crucified, I'm allowing you and your idiot fiancée to stink up my house. Both are terrible experiences."

"How would you like some stigmata, then? I've got a screwdriver and a mallet with your name on them in my suitcase."

"Like I said, you've snagged yourself a real peach," Abel said to Antonio, who had fallen asleep facedown amidst a pile of papers.

Laura pinched the bridge of her nose. "Damn, get lag really has its claws in him," she sighed while at the same time Abel declared "pussed out like a _bitch_." The words were barely out of his mouth when Laura turned around to glare at him. "Can't you even _pretend _to be nice?" She demanded.

"No," Abel said flatly. "It'll make me go into anaphylactic shock."

Laura's eyes narrowed into slits. "Well _suck it up_," she hissed. "Antonio and I are getting married, and you are going to walk me down the aisle and then keep your goddam mouth _shut _when the priest asks if anyone feels that we shouldn't be joined in holy matrimony, or I swear, you'll wake up the next day to find yourself missing a kidney!"

Abel blinked. "You do realise that at the sudden loss of its spouse, my remaining kidney will stop working properly out of spite, thus causing me to be plagued with difficulties with urination, right?" He said after a moment.

Groaning, Laura dropped her head onto the table with a bang. "Ugh, I give up. You are absolutely impossible, you know that? You're so impossible that God looks at you and weeps at the misfortune that He's wrought, and that's why we have typhoons. You…You're the reason why America keeps getting so many hurricanes. It's your fault. Because you _suck. _Suck like a whore with emphysema."

Abel lit his trademark pipe, filling the room with the scent of tobacco and an underlying hint of hash. Watching the thin plume of smoke rising from the bit, he grinned, or rather, managed the odd little half-smile that those who aren't accustomed to full-out smiling tend to give. "What does your friend Femke have to do with this?" He asked.

Laura rolled her eyes. "Oh, ha ha. You're so funny I could just kill you," she muttered.

"Such a joy you are, zus. If only dad had gotten that vasectomy after I was born…"

Laura opened her mouth to retort, but before any scathing words could come out, she found herself interrupted by the sudden and incessant ringing of the doorbell, sending off a series of chimes throughout the house. "Someone's at the door."

"Your powers of deduction know no bounds," Abel said tonelessly. Ignoring the glare sent his way; he began to tap the ashes from his pipe into a nearby ashtray, looking disinterested as he watched the smouldering flakes slowly drift downwards.

"Well, are you going to get the door or what?" Laura asked him.

Abel grabbed his newspaper, opening it up with a loud rustle as he held it up in front of his face. "No. Ignore it, it's probably kids selling candy; if we don't answer the door in five minutes, they'll go away."

Muttering under her breath, Laura scraped her chair loudly across the floor as she pushed it back, relishing the look of abject horror that came over Abel's face when she did so. As she ambled down the hall, she could hear him digging frantically through his cabinets for floor polishing supplies, which made her give off a rather frightening smile. _Laura: One. Abel and his OCD: Zero._

The doorbell continued to be assaulted by whoever was at the front door; the unremitting ringing a testament to what Laura imagined was either the impatience of a curmudgeonly old neighbour or the enthusiasm of a chocolate-hawking school child. Praying that it was the latter, she swung the door open without bothering to check through the peephole.

Blinking as her eyes attempted to acclimate to the bright sunlight, Laura was surprised and more than a bit irritated to find that the one who had been molesting her brother's doorbell had apparently buggered off at the last minute, leaving only a large cardboard box at the doorway in their stead.

From the kitchen, Abel called "Fuck off with your candy bars, kid; if I wanted to eat shit, I could fish it out of the toilet bowl for free."

"There's no one here," Laura shouted back to him. "And stop being a git to the children, Abel!" Shaking her head, she picked up the box and nearly fell forward from its surprising weight. Heaving it up to her chest with a bit of difficulty, Laura kicked the door shut behind her before staggering back into the kitchen.

Seeing Antonio still passed out, she dropped the box onto the table and beside his head, missing him by centimetres. The thump of the package hitting the table woke him with a jolt, causing Antonio to knock over his silverware as he flailed about in an attempt to make it look as though he'd been conscious the entire time.

"No, mama, I don't wanna go to school today!" He wailed, still half-asleep.

Abel looked up from his furious scrubbing of the marks that Laura's chair had etched across his floor in order to throw Antonio a strange look. "Oedipal, much?" He muttered before once again attacking the floor with a vengeance. "What's with the box?" He added disinterestedly.

Laura shrugged. "I'm not sure. No return or send address. The only identifying mark is the fact that it has the word 'teens' written across the top flap." Her eyes narrowed in suspicion at Abel. "Is this underage porn?" She said in a quiet but dangerous tone, enough to cause Abel to unconsciously edge slightly away from her. "Because I thought we had a conversation about your…_Preferences_."

"It's not porn," Abel said defensively. "I'm just as confused about it as you are."

"Whatever," Laura mumbled as she pushed back the flaps of the box, only to leap back with a cry of revulsion.

"Huh-wha," muttered Antonio, who had once again fallen asleep. "What's with all the yell-AY DIOS MIO, WHO WOULD DO THAT?!" He shrieked, tumbling backwards off of his chair and onto the floor upon catching sight of the package's contents.

Abel sighed as he stood upright. "Let me see that you candy-asses," he began, only to freeze in mid-sentence, normally inexpressive eyes wide with shock. "Holy shit." Immediately, his face twisted in an expression of disgust and more than a little anger. "What sick fuck would stick a zip lock bag full of cow intestines in a box and leave it at someone's door?" He demanded, gesticulating towards Laura and Antonio as though they were personal friends of whoever had left them this grisly little surprise.

Antonio raised his hand tentatively. "A serial killer?" He attempted, cringing when Abel shot him a withering glare.

"…I was thinking more along the lines of my ex-girlfriend," Abel admitted after a long moment. "She had issues," he supplied when Antonio looked curiously at him.

"Ah."

"Yeah."

It was the closest that Laura had ever seen the two of them even somewhat resemble getting along, and she almost wished that she could track down and thank the anonymous benefactor of animal innards before realising that someone who left such grim tokens would be more inclined to skin her face and wear it as a mask while dancing naked to the song Good-bye Horses than to shake her hand.

Antonio, whose olive complexion had greened around the edges from the stench wafting from the box, pinched his nose against the odour and begged in a nasal voice "Can we throw it away, please? The smell is gonna make me throw up, and those waffles were too good to waste like that!"

"Might as well," Abel said, lifting the box with little to no effort and looking glad to be shot of the thing. "Goddam Godfather-wannabe freaks," he muttered sotto voce as he began to make his way towards the back door.

He'd barely gone two steps before the box began to quake in his arms like something possessed. "What the fuck?" Was all Abel said before another epileptic tremble, more violent than the first, forced him to let go of the box. As it hit the ground, the box collapsed in on itself, spilling its grisly contents all over the hardwood floor, which, much to the shock of all those present, began to slither about like grotesque facsimiles of serpents, leaving slick trails of blood in their wake as they continued to thrash.

The entrails were, for lack of a better word, converging, bloodied segments of intestine twining about one another and knitting together, first blooming up rapidly like some surreal, amorphous flower before forming three small, vaguely humanoid shapes. First legs, then trunks, arms, and finally heads sprang up from the bubbling offal, swaying slowly about like trees sharing a common root.

Abel, Laura, and Antonio could do little more than watch in morbid fascination as the three figures somehow began to increase in size, breaking their terrified fugue only to jump back when first sinuous muscle and tendon followed quickly by flesh began to rapidly spread over them with a faint, drawn-out hissing noise. After what seemed like hours but had really only been minutes, there stood three fully grown teenagers before them.

They were two males and one female. All three shared the common features of leathery wings, fingers that terminated in claws, slit-pupiled crimson eyes, thin, whip-like tails, and small horns protruding from their skulls, along with no apparent taboo pertaining to public nudity. However, whereas the tanned, muscular young men were completely unfamiliar to him, Antonio recognised the girl completely despite his vehement attempt to eliminate any and all memories of her. Raven-haired, fairer than the males, she was the spitting image of…

"Desirée," Antonio choked out, pointing a trembling finger at the succubus, who was preoccupied with removing a stray piece of intestine from her arm.

She tilted her head curiously at him, and the genuine innocence in her blood-hued eyes made him wonder if she was in fact his seductress from years ago. Now that he thought about it, there was something about the stance as well, something vaguely shy that Desirée had most definitely lacked…

While Laura and Abel stared at Antonio, wondering who or what he was talking about and pondering over what they'd just seen, the girl confirmed his doubts by flying towards him, membranous red wings kicking up a miniature gale as they flapped, blasting away all of the dishes along with the table cloth. Through the tinkle of shattering china and Abel's ensuing swearing, Antonio still managed to catch the word that fell from her lips: _Papa_.

The world spun, became little more than a whirl of white and orange and he was barely aware of the loud, spine-jarring crash as coming from him as he hit the floor. _Fifteen years already…How time flies. Lots of catching up to do…_Were his last thoughts before he was wrapped in the sweet embrace of unconsciousness and his world faded to black.

**A/N: This is short and haphazard because I have been struck by the **_**Sleep Faerie. **_**Such a lovely lady she is…**


	3. In Which Misunderstandings End in Fire

**Disclaimer: BLARG! No more of these, I say!**

_Chapter 2: Dysfunction Junction, What's Your Malfunction? (A.k.a. Meeting the Family)_

The girl stared down at Antonio's prone form, aghast. "Oh no, I killed him!" She'd barely made her hyperbolic diagnosis before flying down to the floor, looking torn between bursting into tears and fleeing the scene, large eyes whirring madly in their sockets as they glanced from Antonio to Abel to Laura before finally coming to rest on her brothers.

"Look, I'm pretty sure that dad's fine-Began the shorter of the two, but she had already gone rigid, a look of desperation in her eyes.

"No," she murmured quietly. "There's only one solution…" The girl lowered her gaze towards the floor, fringe momentarily shadowing her eyes. Suddenly, she flung her head up, revealing the hollow, deadened expression on her wan face. "I must eliminate all witnesses of my crime," she said tonelessly before stepping towards the understandably freaked out Abel and Laura, claws raised and triangular teeth bared.

Before she could commence with the witness-elimination, she was stopped by the timely landing of her brothers, who proceeded to gently cuff her upside the head with thong sandals that they had apparently summoned out of nowhere.

"No, bad Priscila! No killing random bystanders!" The taller, dread-locked teen reprimanded.

Priscila let out a whimper. "Aww," she said sadly, and received another whack courtesy of her shorter, wavy-haired brother.

"You need to apologise to the humans," he added, pointing at the seemingly frozen Laura and Abel.

Looking embarrassed at her faux pas, Priscila turned towards the two of them, blushing. "I'm sorry! I got scared because I thought I gave my dad a heart attack-that's happened to some people when I've appeared out of nowhere-And I didn't wanna get taken away on involuntary manslaughter charges in a foreign country! I mean, have you ever _seen _the show Locked Up Abroad? But really, I just lost sight of myself for a minute, I wouldn't _really _have killed you, so please, don't call the police and-She blinked curiously upon catching sight of the blank look on Abel's face. "Oh no, I killed this guy, too!" Priscilla wailed.

Laura chose that moment to snap out of her stupor. "Oh, he's not dead," she assured Priscilla. "He's gone into what I like to call a paedo-fugue." Looking disgusted, she jerked her thumb towards Abel, who was still staring intently at Priscila, who merely looked confused. "Ugh," Laura grumbled, palming her forehead. "If I were to give him a CT-scan right now, I'd be arrested on charges of child porn…" Face set in a glare; she reached over and slapped the back of her brother's head, snapping him back to reality.

Glowering at her, Abel rubbed the spot where she'd struck him. "What the hell was that for?"

"For being a dirty paedophile."

"Hey, I'm an _ephebophile_. Get it right."

"I reiterate: Ew."

"Excuse me for liking them younger."

"I'll excuse my hand upside your head."

"How kind of you. Do you see me knocking _your _preference in bed mates?"

"Hm, let's see…Oh yeah, _every fucking minute since I first introduced you to Antonio."_

While the two of them continued to bicker, Priscila turned towards her brothers. "Pst," she whispered. "Carlos, Enrique, grab dad while they're distracted!"

Nodding, the two of them grabbed Antonio, Carlos taking his arms and Enrique his legs before pushing themselves into the air with a mighty flap of their wings and hauling him up between them, Antonio's head striking the floor with a thud as it bounced back and forth due to a lack of proper support.

"Damn it Carlos, grab his head!" Enrique chastised. "You're gonna give him a case of adult-onset shaken baby syndrome!" He added irritably.

Momentarily forgetting that he was holding onto his father, Carlos released his hold on Antonio's arms in order to flip his brother the bird with both hands. "Sit on my fingers and rotate, Enrique," he snapped. "Why don't _you _grab dad's head instead of bitching at me to do it?!"

"That…Has a bit of a double meaning," Priscila noted, looking rather uncomfortable.

Carlos' eyes widened in realisation of his accidental double-entendre. "Ugh, fucking gross!" He shouted.

"Way to get me thinking of dad's junk," Enrique added in a flat voice, letting go of Antonio's ankles as though he were made of hot iron.

Antonio, who hitherto had been hanging upside down in mid-air like an oddly-shaped disco ball whilst suspended by his ankles, fell like a rock at roughly the speed of smell and hit the ground with a loud, fleshy thump where he lay sprawled in a tangled pile of limbs like so much unstrung puppet, still unconscious, most likely due to all of the minor head injuries he'd just received in the past several minutes.

Enrique ran a hand through his hair, frowning when Abel and Laura turned away from their argument in order to stare in his direction. "Uhm…Hi," he attempted. "We're here to, uh…"

"Conduct a survey," Carlos continued smoothly. "We're here from the local university's sociology department to…" Having used up the last vestige of his cock and bull supply, Carlos gave what he hoped was a subtle version of the capricious little hand wave that was the universal symbol for 'help, I've run out of bullshit.'

"Uh…Test the effect of nudity upon strangers?" Priscila finished.

Silence reigned as the undisputed king of the next few moments; the tense atmosphere shattered mere moments later by a very loud, very contrived sneeze from Abel. When everyone turned to stare at him, he shrugged their questioning gazes away, drawling "Sorry about that; I'm allergic to bullshit." He shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded towards Antonio's unconscious figure. "What do you want with my sister's idiot fiancée, anyway? You planning on sacrificing him or eating him or what?" Abel asked disinterestedly while Laura gasped in the background.

Enrique's eyes thinned into slits. "Oi, we don't eat people!" He said indignantly.

"Yeah," Carlos added, "we're just here to meet our dad! And maybe visit the nearest Red Light district…"

Laura, who hitherto had been silent, shoved past Abel, who muttered something unintelligible under his breath at her when he was almost sent pitching over the dining table. "Your…your dad?" She asked weakly.

Priscila nodded, barrel curls flopping about her face and hands folded towards her chest. "We didn't mean to cause any trouble. And I'm really sorry about your dishes, Mister Tall Spiky and Scowling; I'll give you the money for them, I swear," she told Abel, who stroked his jaw thoughtfully at her offer.

Seeing the wheels in his head churning, Laura once again reached over to dope slap him, this time hard enough to almost send him careening forward.

"The fuck was that for?" Abel grunted.

Laura shot him a withering glare that would have sent him to a penis-stabbed grave if looks were indeed capable of killing. "I know that look of yours," she hissed. "It's the look that says 'I'm going to get a better deal out of this, and by better deal, I mean acquaint my wing-wong with this underage girl's hoo-ha."

Abel shook his head in disgust at her summary of his intentions. "Wing-wong? Hoo-ha? _Seriously? _You've condensed-incorrectly, by the way-the contents of my mind in such a way that a four-year-old would laugh at it." He slouched against the wall, looking suddenly bored. "Besides, this isn't about me. This is about the fact that your Latin lover currently snogging the floor over there has three illegitimate children that are apparently the result of a union between him and a goat," he said flatly.

"Oh yeah." Stepping over Antonio, Laura planted her hands on her hips and gave the three teens a bright, disarming smile. "So," she said casually, "I'm Laura, your father's fiancée. The pervert currently entertaining highly illegal thoughts over there in the corner is my older brother, Abel. What are you kids' names?"

The three of them looked uncertainly at one another before Priscila and Carlos grabbed Enrique and shoved him to the front. "Why am I the proxy?" He complained as his siblings continued to push him towards Laura.

"You're the oldest," Carlos told him.

"The tall man watches me," Priscila whispered, looking rather frightened. "

Carlos scratched his head. "Huh. He _does _kinda have the look of a skull fucker, doesn't he?" He wondered aloud, cringing when he found himself the newest recipient of Abel's glare.

Enrique slapped his forehead and groaned. "Ugh. Priscila, stop being creeper-bait. Seriously, you have sexual harassment victim written all over you. And Carlos, let go of the skull fucking already. Until I see someone shove their dick into someone's eye socket and start pumping away like a jack hammer, it doesn't exist. _God." _

Turning to Laura, he said "Hi. We're Enrique, Carlos, and Priscila. No surname available in any human languages. Fifteen years ago we were conceived by our mother fucking that guy currently lying on the floor-our mum's a succubus, by the way-while he was drunk on a holiday in the Caribbean. Nine months later, we fell out of her cervix in the order that I gave our names in, were raised by our mother until our Alufiend-that's succubus and human male spawn, for the record-puberty, and told to seek out her baby daddy in order to decide whether we're gonna stick with the dark orgy of madness that is living in the monster realm or live in the slightly less dark orgy of madness that is the human world. Either way, as vulnerable teens, we're pretty much fucked. Anyway, we derive our energy from sex, holy objects don't work on us, we're actually Catholics, not Satanists, and we have no known food allergies. Whether or not we're available for parties and bar/bat mitvahs depends on your definition of 'tricks.' Thank you and good night."

Laura pulled out a chair, threw herself into it, and crossed her legs, ignoring the sound of Abel's fury that she'd once again defiled his floorboards. Wearing her best psychologist face, she pulled out a notepad from the pocket of her jumper. "Okay. I've honestly heard stranger stories. So, you're my fiancée's illegitimate…Alufiends, is that right?"

Upon receiving nods of confirmation, Laura scribbled the word down onto her notepad, underlining it several times. "All righty, then. Alufiend children. Honestly, the fact that he has children I previously didn't know about is all right, albeit not ideal; I like children and teens, albeit not to the unhealthy extent that a certain _someone_-Here she shot Abel a dirty look-does." Laura leaned forward, looking somewhat nervous. "My main concern is, and please don't be offended, but…Does your mother still have feelings for Antonio? Please, it's something that I need to know for my own well-being."

Enrique, Carlos, and Priscila all gave one another side-long glances while letting out the occasional cough.

"Er…"

"Yeah…"

"Uhm…"

"Our mother has about as much feelings for our father as she would a turkey baster full of semen. So I'm gonna have to go with no," Carlos volunteered.

Laura blinked. "Wait, so any feelings she might have towards him are relegated to the amount of affection one would feel towards an anonymous sperm donor?"

Carlos smiled at the look of surprise on her face. "Yeah, human men are pretty much just walking talking refrigerators/sperm banks for most succubae, to be honest. I mean sure, you get the occasional inter-species marriage, but that's the exception to the norm. Mostly, it's just a wild but emotionally derelict bout of slap and tickle, emphasis on the slap," he said informatively, as though he were giving a lecture at a university.

An expression of the utmost joy came over Laura's face, and she leaped to her feet, grabbed the three confused teenagers, and began to spin them around in circles like a malfunctioning waltzer.

"Oh, thank God!" She cried happily. "I thought I was going to have to stage a gladiatorial-style fight to the death with your mum over Antonio! Or at least be one of those horribly resentful step-mothers who treat her husband's children from a prior relationship with thinly veiled contempt due to insecurity and petty jealousy!"

"Why are people so fucking weird?" Enrique muttered as he struggled to keep himself from reviewing his lunch menu all over Laura's blouse.

"Yeah, mud wrestling would've been way hotter…You know, if our mother wasn't involved," Carlos quickly tacked on. He and Enrique fell silent, waiting for Priscila's two cents, and when it never came, the two of them grew concerned. Their anxiety spiked when a cursory glance revealed that not only was she no longer caught up in Laura's death grip along with them, but Abel, whom his own sister had decried as a creeper, was also no longer in the vicinity.

"Uhm, Miss," Carlos began.

"Please, call me Laura!"

"Yeah, uh, Laura…Priscila's gone. So is your brother. Also, you're spinning around two naked teenage boys. Just thought I should throw that out there."

Immediately, Laura stopped spinning, releasing the two from her hold. "Oh," she said. "I'll have to find you some trousers." She raised a finger into the air. "But that'll come later…One moment please."

Walking over to Antonio, she hefted him up by his collar, rolling her eyes at still finding him to be unconscious.

"Mm, yeah. Yeah Laura. Pour…Pour that confectioner's sugar all over those stroopwafels, you beautiful lady that I'll be marrying soon," Antonio muttered in-between snores.

Enrique and Carlos' faces took on the expression of someone who's just been hit in the balls with a sack full of concrete.

"…What the…I don't even…_What?_" Enrique muttered to himself as he stared at his father with something akin to the sort of dumbfounded amazement that one might give to a giant octopus tentacle suddenly bursting through the wall and murdering everyone in a grotesque display of kill-fucking.

Carlos placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's okay," he assured his brother, "I'm wondering all sorts of weird shit too right now. Things that were never meant to be. This must be what being a cartoonist feels like," he added, sounding awed.

"I think we can all agree that we'll never speak of this again," Laura told them before lowering her lips to Antonio's ear and clearing her throat several times.

"Ahem. There is a fifty percent chance that your long-lost teenage daughter is about to get her garden watered by a man thirteen years her senior. Who also happens to be your future brother-in-law. The other fifty percent still probably involves his penis, and fuck you for making me mention my brother's penis. Think about that for a moment."

Less than a second later, Antonio had jumped to a standing position, albeit with his eyes still half-closed. "Mm. Teenage daughter. Brother in-law. Thinly veiled innuendo. Uh-uh." He swayed on his feet several times before his eyes snapped open, bulging from their sockets. "Oh. OH." Antonio's face twisted into an expression reminiscent of Edvard Munch's painting The Scream before he knocked aside several chairs in his mad sprint towards the staircase.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO ! DON'T MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE I DID!"

Carlos and Enrique glanced at one another as Laura took off as well, eyebrows raised bemusedly.

"You know, I resent being called a mistake," Carlos grumbled.

Enrique nodded fervently. "Yeah, mum always calls us her happy little accidents. And why're they freaking out over that Abel guy's tonsil tickler, anyway?"

Carlos shrugged. "Must be a human thing, worrying about other people's junk."

_Xxxxxx_

The pages of the newspaper crackled as Abel, slouched cross-legged in an overstuffed chair positioned beside his bed, turned to the weather forecast section before jerking his head towards his bathroom door. "You done in there?" He called dispassionately.

"No," Priscila said.

"What's taking so long?"

"I don't know _how_ to put on clothes."

Abel rolled his eyes upwards, mouthing the words "Aunt Greet's back fat, Aunt Greet's back fat," for a full five minutes before he managed to regain his bearings. Inhaling deeply, he strode towards the bathroom door and turned the knob.

Much to his consternation, Priscila was just as naked as she'd been ten minutes ago, which was bad enough in itself. Worse, however, was the fact that she was for some reason more interested in the contents of his medicine cabinets than in the pile of clothing that he'd instructed her to put on earlier and which was still neatly folded on top of the toilet tank.

"Hello Mister Pointy Hair," she greeted him without ever turning around from her inquisition of his toiletries.

Abel ran a hand through his aforementioned hair, more than a bit bothered at her lack of ability to clothe herself, and not too chuffed with the nickname, either.

"Put down the electric nostril groomer and come over here," he ordered, forcing himself to look up at the ceiling rather than at the nude teen frolicking around his bathroom.

Priscila quite literally bounced towards him as her wings fluttered with the exertion of keeping her air-bound.

…_Fuck my life. _"Okay," Abel said aloud, "if you can't dress yourself, I suppose I'll just have to dress you."_ Shit, my man-tackle can be used as a coat tree right now. _"Lift your arms, please." _Down Little Abe, jail bait equals prison time in real life…_

Staring steadfastly at everything but the naked girl, he tossed the clothes on her at random, careful to avoid touching anything that might alert child services before stepping back to admire his handiwork. "…Godverdomme."

All of his work had been for nought. The shirt was only half-way on, the lower half bunched over her still-exposed breasts whilst the upper half was somehow covering her mouth, and nose and the shorts were perched at a jaunty angle on her head. Moreover, with her wings being obstructed by the shirt, Priscila had been rendered unable to fly and had fallen into a graceless heap on the floor. Combined with the look of discomforted bemusement on the visible parts of her face, the overall effect was simultaneously pathetic and comical, yet almost endearing in its profoundly ridiculous manner. Sort of like an incontinent kitten, or a B-grade sci-fi film with a budget consisting of a baggie full of acid tablets and a note that said 'Use your imagination.'

_I need a fucking drink. Or ten. _Steeling himself once again with arousal-slaying thoughts of his Aunt Greet on a nude beach, Abel gritted his teeth, crouched down, pushed the girl onto her back, and lifted her legs with one hand while holding the shorts in the other. Just as he was about to start sliding them on, he was rudely interrupted by the bathroom door being flung off its hinges and narrowly missing flattening his skull in a shower of splinters and bone fragments.

"And to think that I just had this bathroom renovated last month," Abel deadpanned. Despite the inferno of rage currently roiling inside of him, he managed to maintain his usual aloof air, if only for the sake of confusing Laura, who was standing in the gaping hole where the door had formerly been, looking scandalised. "So, how can I help you?" He asked in a pseudo-polite voice.

"ABEL!" Laura screamed, red-faced and looking as though she were ready to send him to the nearest monastery as a ceremonial eunuch.

"Sup?" Abel drawled in an exaggeratedly protracted manner.

"WHAT'RE YOU DOING?!" Laura thundered.

Abel shrugged. "Oh, you know. Just figured that in between my daily scheduled puppy kicking and wheeling a loaded canon towards the local orphanage to open fire on those pesky parentless children wasting my tax money, I'd molest a teenage alu-whatever who doesn't even have the basic life skill of dressing herself. A man's gotta have his hobbies."

Laura planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Are you being sarcastic?"

"What gave it away? Was it the canon? It was the canon, wasn't it?" Abel said dryly. "Thanks for lowering your voice, by the way; the ringing in my ears is almost completely gone now."

"Then what _are _you doing?" Laura asked snappishly, choosing to ignore the jab at her previous loudness.

"Dressing her."

"Dressing her?"

"Dressing her."

"_Really?_"

"Yeah."

"_Really?_"

"Yeah, _really_?"

Hands still on her hips, Laura began to tap her foot as well, looking disturbingly like an archetypical sit-com mother. "And _why _exactly would you take the time to dress Priscila?"

"For both of our sakes," Abel replied simply. "A naked teenage girl roaming around a twenty-eight year-old man's house is never a good idea."

"Unless it's a crappy rom-com film," Priscila, whom had until now been watching the siblings as though they were a mildly amusing comedy duo, said from her spot on the floor. "Man, I'd like to shove a brick up the arse of whatever dickmunch wrote the screenplay for Gigli; watching that movie took _years _off of my lifespan."

Abel levelled a strange look at her. "How do you know about things like television and films and yet you don't know how to dress yourself?" He demanded.

Priscila pushed herself up onto her elbows. "Clothing isn't necessary for our day-to-day lives, but entertainment is eternal," she said solemnly. Then she brightened. "Plus, you save a ton of money on clothes when you go around in your birthday suit all the time."

Laura swung her eyes onto Abel as though he were a ball-bearing and had been magnetized. "You're thinking about adopting the nudist lifestyle to save money, aren't you?" She said flatly.

Abel blinked. "What? No," he answered while wearing a 'shit, she's onto me' expression.

"Thank God, I'd have to blind myself. Well, I guess this was all just a misunderstanding and you were actually being somewhat altruistic instead of cree-ARGH!" Laura threw herself to the side, barely avoiding being knocked into the toilet by a blurry figure speeding through the spot where the door once stood and instead winding up in the much-less-awkward position of falling into the tub and accidentally ripping the shower curtain down along with her as she grasped for a hold to break her fall.

"What is this, destroy Abel's bathroom day?" Abel shouted before being bowled over by a wild-eyed Antonio. "Either you're trying to hump me or punch me. If it's the latter, I'm sticking your head in the toilet. If it's the former, I'm sticking your head in the toilet _and _breaking my foot off in your arse."

"Not my hitherto-unknowing-of-her-existence-until-today's little girl, you fiend!" Antonio yelled, and in a surprising fit of strength managed to grasp Abel's shoulders and pound his head against the tiles.

"Au. Au. Au." Abel grunted each time the back of his head became acquainted with the floor. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You didn't get the vibrator that you wanted for your birthday?"

"Keep your erection to yourself!" Antonio snarled as he continued to attempt to reduce the other man's head into a vertical smear on the tile. "No watering my teenage daughter's garden!"

"That's cool, I'll just spelunk the bat-infested cave that's your mother's gaping twat."

"ARGH!"

"That's gonna leave a mark…And by spelunking, I mean I'll drive a lorry through it."

"DIE ABEL!"

"That last one meant that your mum's vagina is huge due to years of overuse."

"DON'T EXPLAIN THE JOKE! I'LL FIGURE IT OUT ON MY OWN!"

Laura, who had managed to pull herself out of the tub, shook her head in disgust at the immaturity on display in front of her. Much to her surprise, Priscila was on the opposite end of the spectrum, looking utterly bored with the pandemonium.

"This doesn't concern you at all?" Laura asked her.

Priscila shook her head. "Compared to Carlos and Enrique's fights, this is a sporting game of cricket."

Stunned, Laura plunked down on the edge of the tub, holding her chin in her hands. "Wow. What are their fights like?"

"Let's just say that the group of nursery school children who wound up seeing the last one emerged from the ashes with the knowledge of their own mortality wedged firmly in their tiny child hearts. But, they got complimentary peanuts out of it, so there was that," Priscila stated.

"…Okay. Should we break these two up?" Laura said after a moment of letting that strange little anecdote sink in.

Just then, Carlos and Enrique burst into the room, looking excited. "No way, this is the good part; they've degenerated into petty name-calling!" Enrique said.

Laura groaned and dropped her head into her hands. "Ugh. Fine, just pull them apart if one of them gets their hands on a nail gun," she sighed, waving her hand tiredly.

"Sweet," Carlos declared, and fist-bumped Enrique. "Wanna take bets?"

"With what money, numbnuts?"

"Who're you calling numbnuts, dick for brains?"

"Oh hell no, I will mess your day _up, _bitch!"

"Bring it motherfucker!"

And with that, the two brothers descended into a throw-down, rip-roaring, penis-length-impugning fight, which, combined with that of Antonio and Abel's, momentarily caused the ground to tremble from the erections of previously slumbering and now awakened war gods prodding lasciviously against the local tectonic plates at this erotic gift of battle. Except not really, it was just the slightly shaky foundation of the house. There _were _plenty of strange insults being hurled around, though, many of which indeed call into question the masculinity of those involved.

"Your junk looks like a wotsit and two peas!"

"Anyone who you trick into giving you a blowjob has to use a microscope and a pair of tweezers to even find the man-clit that passes for your dick!"

"You tongue-punch your mother with that mouth? Because I DO!"

"You might wanna save your breath with the insults…After all, you'll need it to blow up your date tonight!"

"Your mother's stroked more wood than a furniture polisher!"

"I could lop a steak off of your mum! Tell me, do you catch her drippings in a pan or do you just leave her outside and hope that the local wildlife doesn't mistake her for an uncured beef shankle?"

"You talk some good shit for a guy who looks like a half-shaved Chewbacca costume; then again, horrible malformations like yours always occur when they're mothers get pregnancy discounts at liquor stores!"

"Yeah, well…YOU SMELL!"

Laura stood up. "I'd be all about the homoeroticism of this if it didn't involve my brother and technical step-sons. That just makes it uncomfortable. And now's the time for me to end this before they short out their brains in an attempt to think up more insults," she said. She nodded towards Priscila, who had taken the opportunity to learn how to dress herself…Using toilet paper. "Close enough. Can you help me round these idiots up?"

"Finally, I've been wanting to do this all day," Priscila declared. With that, she promptly released a massive stream of black fire from each hand, aiming them directly at the unruly combatants. "FIRE AND YOUR FACES!" She said while wearing a look of the utmost delight.

"It's always the shy one who winds up being batshit insane," Laura noted. Then she blinked. "Wait, why aren't they charred, blackened husks?" She added upon seeing that everyone wasn't even mildly singed and were using the fact that they weren't covered in burns to continue throwing punches.

"It's faerie fire. All the appearance of fire with none of the burning and ensuing screaming. Why, do you want burning and screaming? Because I can do that," Priscila offered, raising her hands higher.

"No, no, this is fine," Laura said quickly, waving her hands.

Priscila hung her head. "I never get to burn things."

"Tell your mum to shine her forehead, I wanna be able to see my dick reflected in it later tonight!"

Laura's eye began to twitch. "Never mind what I just said. Burn them. Burn them all _to hell._"

"Yay," Priscila cheered. "It's fucking fire o' clock!" That being said, she raised her hands in the air and blasted a torrent of crackling black flames up into the air, the ozone screaming against the unnatural fire, which, much to the dismay of everyone that wasn't its wielder, formed itself into the shape of a gigantic hand giving the middle finger. "Fire-fuck all of you!"

Laura pinched the bridge of her nose. "Why me?"

**A/N: This has delved into the realm of the stupid. I'll save it…Maybe. **


	4. Of Toilet Explosions and Awkward Advice

**Disclaimer: Oh wow, an actual update. INCREDIBLE.**

_Chapter 3: In Which Order is Restored (Except Not Really)_

"One order of blackened dumbarse chunks, hold the onions, coming right up!" Priscila chimed as the flames crackled overhead, assuming the shape of a manticore. The fiery creature opened its disturbingly human mouth, a roar not dissimilar to a trumpet blast sounding past three rows of fanged teeth as its stinger-ended tail thrashed like a frenzied serpent.

Before the quarrelling men could be reduced to little more than vaguely human-shaped soot stains permanently charred against the wall, Priscila vanished in a spinning helix of black flame, leaving only a streak of iridescent ash across the linoleum in the wake of where she had once stood.

Those remaining blinked at the girl's abrupt disappearance into seemingly thin air, their confused reverie broken surprisingly enough by Abel, who, despite not normally being so talkative, could apparently not resist breaking his trademark silent contempt in order to point out the madness that had taken hold of today.

"That had better come off of the floor," he muttered, casually shoving a wobbly-looking Antonio over, sending the other man onto the floor like a toppled sapling.

Laura inhaled deeply, glowering at the bunny-patterned shower curtain that she had accidentally ripped down earlier. "Do you mean to tell me," she said through her teeth in a feignedly calm voice, "That your main concern after narrowly avoiding being served up as extra crispy is whether or not something will stain the floor?"

"…Yes," Abel deadpanned. "What?" He demanded when everyone turned to cast odd glances in his direction. "Do you know how much it cost to renovate this place?!"

Laura rolled her eyes at him. "Because you, tightarsed that you are, didn't keep any and all estimates that might have been given to you by the contractors," she said dryly.

Abel was about to retort when he was unceremoniously interrupted by Antonio, who had yet to pull himself up from where he'd landed on the floor. "I'm sorry to interrupt your sibling rivalry," he said with the utmost sincerity, "But am I the only one who noticed that my daughter randomly disappeared? While wearing a dress made out of toilet paper?"

"You know, I noticed that too but I figured it wasn't a big deal," Enrique admitted from his perch on the shower rod.

"Yeah, she was probably summoned by a wizard or something," Carlos added, looking up from his inspection of a bottle of K-Y Warming Jelly.

"Oi, put that away," Abel hissed at him when he realised what Carlos was holding.

"What? Don't want everyone to know that you can't make girls slippery?" Carlos grinned.

Abel shrugged, not taken aback by the barb aimed at his supposed lack of sexual prowess. "That's fine," he said calmly. "Your mother prefers it when I take her dry anyway."

Carlos' face purpled. Enrique gasped. Antonio let out an 'oooooh.' Laura palmed her forehead and prayed for divine intervention in the form of a tornado that tore up the bathroom and killed everyone but herself.

"You're not allowed to talk shit about our mum!" Enrique snarled.

Abel merely affixed the younger man with an unimpressed glance. "Look kid, the only one who 'allows' me to do anything is your mother. And that thing is anal," he added.

At this point, Enrique and Carlos had been rendered incapable of speech and were reduced to making angry, stifled sounds reminiscent of a mouse being trod upon by a fat guy. "You fuck mothering son of a-The brothers began simultaneously.

"EVERYBODY PUT A DICK IN IT!" Laura screamed. Everyone fell silent and turned to look at her with wide eyes.

"…I don't care what Mathias said I did during our college hazing ritual. The answer is no," Abel said.

"Okay, maybe that wasn't the best way to grab your attention, but for Christ's sake, stop fighting already! You're all behaving like a bunch of children! No more your mum jokes, no more insulting the length of each other's penises, and for the love of all that is holy, no more punching!" Laura snapped.

Enrique hopped off of the shower rod, right leg extended, and delivered a flying kick directly to Abel's head so violent that Laura could actually see her brother's face ripple around the epicentre of the blow before he toppled over with the imprint of a foot stamped across his face.

"Kick to the fucking face!" Enrique shouted triumphantly.

At the irritated look that she directed his way, Enrique flung up his hands. "You never said anything about kicking!" He argued.

Pushing himself to his feet, Abel strode over to Enrique, looking oddly serene despite the fact that he'd just been the victim of a dynamic entry. "She never said anything about _this, _either," he mused before wrapping his right hand around Enrique's throat and slamming him against the wall.

Feet dangling in mid-air, eyes bulging from their sockets, and indents appearing on his neck from the fingers crushing his trachea, all that Enrique could do was flail helplessly as Abel did his damndest to strangle the ever-loving hell out of him, adding in the occasional wince whenever he heard something (probably one of his neck bones) crack.

Carlos immediately began to fly over in order to assist his brother, only to be shunted aside by Antonio, who jumped atop Abel's back and began to beat him around the head with a plunger.

"I won't let you kill my son, you Cullen-haired monster!" Antonio shouted as he attempted to shove the suction cup of the plunger into Abel's face.

"I'm not killing him; it's hug therapy," Abel lied as he continued to choke Enrique, who was rapidly turning blue. "And get that thing away from me, it smells like hobo anus," he added, batting the plunger away.

Just when Laura told herself that the situation couldn't get any more ridiculous, Carlos decided to leap into the fray, brandishing a toilet brush that he'd retrieved from the corner of the bathroom, which he, in a manner similar to his father, began to shove into Abel's face.

"Eat toilet brush, Dutchy!" Carlos yelled.

"Quick, call child services while he's distracted!" Antonio shouted to no one in particular.

"Ack!" Enrique managed to gasp out.

"Enough with the bathroom supplies!" Abel snarled, somehow managing to grab both Antonio and Carlos with the hand that he wasn't using to choke Enrique and hurling them aside like ten-pins. The two of them hit the opposite wall and slid down to the floor headfirst with a sound like a squeegee running across a greasy window.

"He's mad, isn't he?" Carlos noted rhetorically.

"No shit Sherlock," Enrique choked out using the bit of air that he'd managed to take in when Abel's grip had loosened when throwing the other two aside. "You want a biscuit for pointing out the obvious?" He said as an afterthought before having a violent coughing fit.

Leaping to his feet, Carlos shot Enrique a filthy look and then, much to the surprise of no one, least of all Enrique, shoved Abel aside in order to take his place in manually asphyxiating him.

"Why you little-Carlos growled before allowing his brother's sputtering to speak for him a la Homer Simpson.

Laura let out a little sigh of disgust. "Is anyone else getting flashbacks of their first date?" She asked out of nowhere.

Abel raised his eyebrows. "I was thinking of Henri and my fight's, actually, and the fuck sort of first date did you _go _on?" He demanded while at the same time Antonio shook his head and said "Not really. If Carlos' crotch catches fire and Enrique starts crying for his father to get his shotgun, _then _I'll start getting déjà vu", earning him a well-deserved eyebrow rising from Laura and Abel.

"…I don't wanna know, do I?" Laura said.

"I do," Abel dissented.

Antonio smiled fondly and cupped his chin in his hand. "Well, it was 1997, and Radiohead's third album, Okay Computer, had just been released. The Macarena was considered a good idea, it was not only okay but encouraged to look like you hadn't showered in days, and my Tamagotchi had just died in tortured, poo-covered agony. I had two tickets for a Vengaboys concert, and-

"Yeah, don't care anymore," interrupted Abel, who was reading a gardening magazine that he'd plucked from atop of the toilet tank. "Hm, eggshells as a caterpillar deterrent," he said as he stopped at the third page. "Interesting."

"Seriously dad, that story fucking sucked," Carlos chimed in.

"I thought it was all right," Enrique admitted only for Carlos to resume his strangling of him tenfold.

"That story sucked donkey balls and you know it!" Carlos snarled, shaking him with every word for special emphasis. Before he could kill his brother, Enrique managed to find his saving grace in the form of lashing his foot out and sending it straight into Carlos' woefully unprotected groin, sending a hideous cracking sound echoing throughout the lavatory. Carlos immediately fell to the floor and curled up into a foetal position.

"Can't…Breathe…Testicles…Destroyed…My dreams…Of a family…" He whimpered as he cupped his crotch, which had been transformed into a hot foot bath.

Abel shook his head at the scene before him, whistling. "Ouch."

"Understatement of the year," Antonio said.

Laura nodded fervently. "Seeing that made _my _testicles ache. And I don't even _have _any."

"You sure about that, zus? I'm pretty sure I saw them pop out that time you wore a miniskirt," Abel said, and received a well-placed elbow to the balls for his trouble. "Man down," he deadpanned before sinking to the floor to join Carlos in the Seedless Grapes Community.

Antonio peered curiously down at his future brother-in-law. "How you managed to have such an expressionless reaction to having your potatoes mashed is as terrifying as it is impressive. How do you do it?" He asked.

Abel glowered up at him. "Here, see for yourself," he grunted, grabbing the nearby stainless steel bathroom bin and swinging it up into Antonio's crotch with a deafening clang.

"I honestly wasn't expecting that," Antonio said in a high-pitched whisper before keeling over.

"Congratulations, you partially succeeded," Abel muttered before doubling over and mumbling a series of incomprehensible curses under his breath. If one were to listen closely, it sounded something like 'tampon-eating otter-fucker.'

Laura sat down on the edge of the tub, observing the wreckage with a long-suffering look on her face. There were cracks spiderwebbed across the wall from where Abel had slammed Enrique into it, several tiles were missing from the floor, and all four males were incapacitated, with three of them whose penises could be used as models for insane artists interested in making clay replicas of what happened to a frankfurter after you shoved it down a waste disposal unit and one whose voice box was crumpled like a used napkin. And, as the arsenic-laced cherry atop of the shit sundae that was her day insofar, she had no idea where the hell Antonio's daughter had been beamed off to.

"Great. Just bloody great," Laura mumbled, dropping her face into her hands. "Can today get any worse?" She said aloud, forgetting the fact that to state such a question was to tempt the cruel hand of the fates.

Ignorant of her gaffe, Laura stood up in search of a first aid kit, only for the toilet to let out an odd gurgling noise before vomiting up its contents like a gyser, spraying all of those present with toilet water. Abel immediately flew into a panic, snatched up a bucket, and began to desperately toss bucketful's of water back into the toilet, which in retrospect was pretty impractical, seeing as how the toilet was still gushing water like someone had bulldozed one of the Deltaworks, sending twenty litres onto the floor for every bucketful that he dumped back in.

"…At least it's clean," Laura said after a moment. Looking down at the now ankle-high and still-rising water, she noticed several small packets floating on its surface, their shiny foil wrappers winking in the fluorescent light streaming down from the ceiling. Upon closer inspection, she realised that the packets had the phrase 'It Will Be Sweeter if You Wrap Your Peter' printed across them in shiny, gold-embossed script. Her eye began to twitch. _So _that's _where they went_, she thought grimly. Aloud, she said "Thanks for flushing my condom supply down the toilet, genius" to the furiously working Abel, who shrugged at her accusation.

"I'd rather deal with a toilet explosion than having to listen to you two fuck like geriatric monkeys all night," he said blandly. "Also-Abel stopped short when something brushed against his ankle. Looking down, he saw that it was Enrique, who, along with Carlos and Antonio, was floating face down in the water, apparently unconscious. He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm not giving any of these fuckers mouth to mouth," he declared. Then, much to Laura's surprise and gratification, he flipped all three of them over so that they were floating on their backs. However, this act of kindness was then negated by the fact that Abel then proceeded to use their faces as stepping stones in order to hop his way into the relative safety of the tub, where he proceeded to take out his mobile.

Laura folded her arms. "What are you doing?" She asked suspiciously.

"Calling the plumber," Abel answered. Before Laura could ask anything else, he silenced her with a shushing movement. "Uh-huh. Uh-huh. I see," he said calmly before hanging up and shoving the mobile back into his trouser pocket.

"Well, what's the diagnosis?" Laura demanded.

"The plumber will be here in half an hour," Abel told her.

Laura smiled. "That's good news, isn't it?" She said encouragingly.

Abel shrugged. "Eh…"

Smile quickly transforming into a frown, Laura motioned for him to continue. "Not the 'eh'. Nothing good ever comes from the 'eh'," she groaned. "What's the 'eh'? TELL ME!" She demanded in a hammy, Invader Zim-esque tone.

"The water will be chest-high in roughly twenty minutes," Abel relented. He ran a hand through his hair, looking thoughtful. "Actually," he corrected himself, "It'll be chest-high for _you. _For me, that won't be too far past my waist, so it's cool."

Laura let out a protracted hiss. "You are _such _a jackwad sometimes," she said through her teeth.

"Sticks and stones, zus."

"_Ugh." _

Ignoring her, Abel leaned forward to seize Antonio, Carlos, and Enrique by their hair and haul them into the tub beside him and Laura. "See? Kindness," he declared flatly.

"You just tore huge clumps of hair from their heads and hit their heads against the tub when you tossed them in here!" Laura shouted exasperatedly.

Abel was silent for a moment, then-"_But_, I didn't leave them to drown."

Laura groaned, threw herself into a sitting position, and tucked her knees beneath her chin. "I'm sitting in a tub with my unconscious fiancée, my naked and also unconscious teenage stepsons, and my deadpan older brother while we wait to drown in toilet water. What did I do to deserve this?" She asked, staring up at the ceiling. "Was I a serial killer? Did I strangle hookers? Hang around nursery schools in a bear costume while holding balloons? A serial killing, child raping, hooker strangler?"

"…You were Roark Junior from _Sin City_?" Abel asked her as he munched on a Curly Wurly.

"I don't even know who that is and where did you get that from?" Laura demanded.

Abel swallowed before answering. "My pocket. Want some?" He offered in a surprise moment of munificence, holding the candy bar out to her.

Laura sighed and shook her head. "No thanks. I-She stopped short when Abel's mobile began to ring, sending out a reedy mp3 of Ali B's _Jeweetzelluf. _

Flipping open his phone, Abel once again began a series of nods along with the occasional 'uh-uh'. He even threw in a couple of 'okays' for good measure. After five minutes of a very one-sided conversation, he once again pocketed his mobile before turning to his sister. "You want the good news or the bad news first?" He said in the casual tone of someone remarking on the weather.

Laura ran a hand through her hair. "Good news, please."

"The flat fee for the plumbing service is only fifty euros regardless of whatever needs fixing."

"…What's the bad news?"

"The plumber won't be here for another fifteen minutes. By then the water will be nearly to the ceiling."

Laura slumped over, defeated. "We're going to drown, aren't we?" She moaned.

"Probably," Abel said unconcernedly from around another mouthful of chocolate and caramel goodness.

While Laura, Abel, Antonio, Carlos, and Enrique awaited their watery grave, Priscila was experiencing her own issues, a.k.a. that of forced apparition. Whereas voluntary apparition was merely uncomfortable, an unexpected summoning was nothing short of painful, and between one's vision fading to black and the sensation of being crushed by slowly oncoming walls all while being squeezed through a narrow, wildly spinning tunnel caused breathing to become nigh-impossible, she was not a very happy camper. Hence why, when the nauseating spiralling sensation finally stopped and her feet hit the solid ground of what could only be a cellar (it was always a fucking cellar…), Priscila's first reaction was not to politely ask her summoner's their request but to tell décor and rationality to go fuck themselves.

"Come on out and tell me your requests, shitlords," she screamed, unfurling her wings and forming a massive fireball in her right hand. "And don't think hiding behind that crate is gonna help; I can smell your fear-pee from here!" She added, glaring at the aforementioned crate, which did nothing to obscure the three blonde-thatched heads sticking out from over it.

"Shit, she can hear us," a voice said.

"Did you really piss yourself?" Another voice asked.

"N-no. Not at all. Nope," a third voice denied.

"Even if he did, she's got plenty of toilet paper for him to wipe his shame up with," the first voice drawled.

Priscila, who had yet to completely recover from the negative effects of the summoning, took the opportunity to hurl more abuse at them. "You wanted me, you shit-sucking fuckwounds? Well, ya got me! Now get your arses out here or I swear, I will grow a dick out of sheer rage and use it trepan each and every one of your skulls until your brain cases are nothing but a mess of blood and semen! The only work you'll ever get afterwards will be as models for a medical science journal!"

Not wanting to wait to find whether or not she would carry out her threat of trepanning via oversized phallus, three men in star and crescent moon-spangled robes wearing pointy wizard hats and clutching large tomes that appeared to be bound in human flesh stumbled out from behind the large wooden crate, wearing expressions that varied from politely surprised to giddily exited.

"Huh. It actually worked," said the blondest of the three, a pokerfaced young man with flat, violet-blue eyes and a small cross-shaped pin bedecking his platinum hair.

"Yeah, we didn't just summon that insane Russian guy while we he was taking a shit like we usually do," chimed in a strawberry blonde youth with bright scarlet eyes, small fang protruding past his lower lip and a little top hat perched jauntily atop his head. "I'm both impressed and relieved."

"Finally, a demon summoning that _wasn't _a colossal screw up!" Cried the last of the three, a man in possession of the largest eyebrows that Priscila had ever seen set atop a pair of verdant green eyes and a rather wild thatch of dirty blonde hair.

The nerve that processed such niceties as graciousness and not throwing out disturbing slurs still knocked out of place by the vicious squeezing that her skull had undergone whilst she violated time and space, the only response that Priscila was able to give them consisted of more shouted insults. "Oh look, three premiere tragic nerds who spend all of their time wanking it to night elves finally managed to get their jizz-covered hands on some shoddily translated copies of the Necronomicon after ten solid hours of desperately clicking on eBay in-between trying to place bids on the only dates that'll never laugh at their needle dicks, a.k.a. blow-up dolls."

Blinking at this mean-spirited summary of his life, the strawberry blonde raised his hand up in the air. "Are succubae always this cantankerous?"

"Ooh look, baby tampon licker just spoke his first semi-big word," Priscila sneered. "Nice Hot Topic cloaks, by the way; you twat-lickers could put smiles on the faces of the most down-trodden third-world orphans with your dumbfuck freaks and geeks ensembles." And then, to further insult their lack of magical potency, she stepped inside of their circle of protection, causing a sound like shattering glass to echo across the mouldy stone walls of the cellar. "Shouldn't have used iodized salt," she said in response to their dumbfounded expressions.

"Gentlemen," the man with the large eyebrows declared softly, "It would seem that we are about to have our lives ended…With sex."

"But…that's good," the top-hatted one said.

"All of our bodily fluids and ultimately our life forces will be drained from our corpses, leaving us little more than withered husks while our damned souls scream forever from between astral planes."

"…That's bad."

"But, every moment of the act will be immersed in the utmost ecstasy."

"That's good!"

"But, the stress is far too much for the human body, and the sheer intensity of it will cause our hearts to stop within the first five minutes."

"…That's…not good…"

"Yes, quite."

Priscila bared her teeth at them in a hideous parody of a smile. "Cum sucker McEyebrowPubes is right. Now, prepare yourselves for-Looking highly confused, Priscila shook her head several times to clear it before looking up to stare at the three men with a startled look in her eyes. "Oh, hello," she said mildly. "Did you summon me for something?"

"Er, yes," eyebrows said. "Oh, where are my manners-My name is Arthur Kirkland and these are my friends and co-wizards Lukas Bondevik," he said, gesturing towards the dull-eyed man, who nodded, "And Ilie Dalca," he finished, gesturing towards the red-eyed man, who waved in a rather hyperactive manner.

"Are you going to murder-fuck us?" Ilie asked curiously.

Priscila recoiled as though she'd been struck. "Ew, no! Sex is for no! It's all sweat and secretions and grunting and ugh," she whimpered, looking horrified and revolted.

Lukas raised a pale eyebrow in consternation. "You seemed pretty eager to harvest our semen until we were little more than dried-out mummies before," he pointed out.

"Forced apparition puts a lot of stress on the mind and body. It…makes a bit of a muddle out of my personality. I don't wanna have sex, it's messy and looks really uncomfortable and it probably smells like a seafood buffet that's been lying out for a whole day!" Priscila cried.

Ilie made a gagging sound in the back of his throat. "Well, that ruined sex for me. Time for some emergency liquor," he declared, pulling a bottle out of the folds of his robes.

Arthur gave him an odd look. "Is that_ everclear_?" He asked.

Ilie shrugged. "And possibly a bit of surgical spirit. What's your point?"

Arthur shook his head. "Forget I asked; I really don't want to know."

"Well, in that case, first you need a piñata and a model aeroplane. Then you sixty-nine with the piñata with the aeroplane stuck up your-

"I SAID I DON'T WANT TO KNOW, YOU BLOODY PSYCHOPATH!" Arthur yelled, flushing a brilliant shade of red.

Ilie grinned at him, fang flashing. "Hey, don't diss the voodoo juice," he said. "A couple of years drinking this stuff and when I die, my remains will make an excellent household cleaner and disinfectant."

Lukas wrinkled his nose. "Or jet fuel, judging by the smell of that," he muttered.

Ilie merely smirked wider and raised the bottle. "Hey, I am undefeated in all bouts with vodka, whisky, and all other alcoholic beverages. Cheers, probst, salut, and all that other shit. Down the hatch," he declared loudly, and swigged down half of the bottle's contents in one go. After a moment, he blinked, pupils dilated until his eyes seemed more black than red. "Jesus says that He does indeed love you, but everyone else holds you in silent contempt and prays for you to get mauled by angry koalas," Ilia said before he fell over in a heap.

Picking up the fallen bottle, Lukas read the warning label, which had a picture of a jolly roger printed across its front. "Warning," he said aloud, "This drink may cause you to get naked, get religious, and/or get arrested. Please do not purchase without first signing an affidavit absolving the seller of any and all responsibility as to what may occur after consumption. Hm."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Well, Ilie's got the religion part down, at any rate," he observed. Turning to Priscila, he said, "My apologies about summoning you; we weren't even sure if the spell would work," he admitted.

"That's okay," Priscila assured him. "I needed the break from my family anyway." She pointed towards Ilie, who had regained consciousness only to try and coerce Lukas into giving him a hug, an action to which Lukas responded with a stony glare and a threat of chemical castration via throwing the other man into a vat of hydrochloric acid. "Is he going to be all right?" She asked.

"Meh," Arthur said with a shrug, "We'll probably be joining him in piss drunkenness sooner rather than later; today _is_ tacos and beer night, after all."

"Okey-doke," Priscila said. "So, what _did _you three want to know, anyway? Because if it's the meaning of life, the answer is obviously biscuits."

"…Not exactly. Embarrassing as it is, we actually just wanted to know what it is that people want out of relationships." At the bemused look that she was giving him, Arthur hastened to continue. "You see, all three of us are experiencing dry patches in our romantic lives, so we figured that if anything, a succubus or incubus ought to have some valuable information for us."

Priscila scratched her head. "Uh, sorry to break it to you, but I'm actually only half succubus. Also," she continued, "as you saw earlier, I really don't know much about sex, what with my neuroses and all. Sorry," she apologised.

Arthur waved his hands. "No, no, that's fine! It's not sex advice I-I mean _we're _after, it's romance advice…And maybe a bit of advice on sexual technique…"

"…Have you tried shaving your bits?" Priscila asked after a moment. "Manscaping is all the rage nowadays."

"Uh…Do you have anything else?"

"Hmm…." A light bulb appeared over Priscila's head, which quickly fizzled out before falling from the ceiling and landing with a crash at her feet, where it shattered.

"Oh hell, I really ought to get that light fixture fixed," Arthur grumbled. "So, anything else?" He prompted.

Priscila bit her lower lip as she wracked her brain. "Honestly," she said, "I don't know. All I can think of right now is what my big brother's always say that their partners enjoy."

Arthur looked interested despite himself. "Which is…?"

Blushing, Priscila mumbled something unintelligible under her breath, looking mortified.

Arthur leaned forward. "Sorry," he said, frowning. "I can't hear you. Can you say that a little louder?"

Priscila sighed. "These are their words verbatim: Bitches love enormous cock. Please don't make me say it again," she begged. "I feel awkward even thinking about it, let alone saying it…"

Arthur shut his mouth, which had fallen open, with an audible, rather painful-sounding click. "Oh," was all he said. "So…Er…Does that apply to both genders? The, uh, preference for immense genitalia?"

"They claim it's universal."

"I…I see. Thank you for your, er, advice."

"Don't take it too much to heart," Priscila told him. "I'm pretty sure that my brothers were just taking the mickey out of me when they said that," she said as an afterthought. "I mean, who really wants to be impaled on a giant what's-it, right? That'd just result in being split open from crotch to navel like a trout! 'Oh hey, you're rearranging my organs with your meat lance!' Not very arousing at all."

Arthur nodded. "Yes, I can't imagine that being rent in two would be much fun at all." Pulling himself to his full height, he extended his hand and said "Once again, thank you for the information, and please, accept my apologies for interrupting whatever you may have been engaged in due to my inadvertent summons," in an exceedingly formal tone of voice.

Forcing herself to not burst into laughter at his extreme display of Englishness, Priscila nodded her head. "Like I said, it's quite all right. You saved me from setting several people on fire by summoning me here, anyway. Good luck with, uh, whatever it is you're planning to do," she added. "Good-bye," Priscila called, before flying out of the cellar window.

"Good-bye," Arthur called after her. Once he was certain that she was gone, he turned to Lukas and Ilie, the latter of whom was lashed to a folding chair with his own cloak. "Gentlemen," he declared whilst holding up a small hardcover book that he'd procured from his cloak pocket, "I have the solution to all of our love woes."

Lukas squinted at the title. "Potent Potions to Pump-Up Your Penis?" He deadpanned. "What the fuck?"

Ilie snorted. "And you say _I'm _weird, Arthur. Pot, meet kettle," he drawled.

"Shut your trap and start mixing," Arthur said distractedly as he began to gather an assortment of herbs and a pickled spleen from the shelves lining the cellar walls.

Lukas and Ilie stared bemusedly at each other. "He's lost it," Lukas said.

"Actually, I don't think he ever had it," Ilie noted as Arthur began to haphazardly toss ingredients into an unlit cauldron. "The things that loneliness will do to a person…"

**A/N: Sorry about the shoddy workmanship in this chapter, everyone, the idea for it came to me in a fever dream. **


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